Kaspar Dejong: Back and Forth
We visit Kaspar Dejong in the studio, where nothing stays put for long. We stopped by to watch him airbrush, scrape, and cover things he just made — and to ask why his new edition had to be on canvas, and when a work decides it’s done with him (or not).
There’s something about watching you with the airbrush — it feels halfway between excavating something and doing a paint job. What’s going on in that process, to you?
At the moment, I’m working on a project that revolves around the concept of the palimpsest. I’ve been visiting historical archives to see and study them — pieces of parchment that have been overwritten again and again, once their original message had lost meaning or intention over time. That idea reoccurs often in my work.
In psychogeography, the term is often used to describe the layers of meaning present in urban space or on public walls. I use tools that let me move through the layers — forward, back, again. I can cover, remove, or rework areas. Sometimes I wipe something away just to reveal what came before. That residue becomes part of the final composition. It’s a constant negotiation with the surface — a back-and-forth between construction and excavation.
Rather than making a straightforward print, you chose to create a set of handmade pieces. What made you take that direction?
When I started thinking about an edition, it felt logical to work on textile instead of paper. I’ve experimented with a lot of different printing techniques in the past, which opened up the idea of using canvas. It allowed me to make an edition that comes close to my painting, while still applying traditional methods like silkscreen printing and heat transfers.
During the process, the canvas started to react to the tension — like stretched animal skin. That incidental effect really resembled the way animal skins were stretched and dried to become parchment for manuscripts. That tactile quality gave the work a new layer of resonance.
It’s a constant negotiation with the surface — a back-and-forth between construction and excavation.
When do you decide it’s done?
That often comes instinctively. One sign a piece is nearly done is when the original material is almost completely covered. Then there are often finishes with details of oil paint or pieces from old poster paper.
But sometimes a work re-emerges after a long time in the studio, and if I feel the need to keep working on it, I will. The work dictates when it’s done with me.
What’s next for you?
I’m currently working on a research-driven project that explores the materiality of painterly surfaces. This includes visits to archives, restoration studios, papermakers, and parchment specialists — to investigate how different supports carry and transform imagery over time. That research will inform a new body of work to be presented in 2026.
In parallel, I’m finalizing a book that brings together a decade of photographic observations — a personal archive of encounters in public space, documenting the traces we leave behind and the layered nature of our urban environments.
At the beginning of 2026, I’ll also present an exhibition at the Zuyderland collection, featuring a retrospective of works from recent years.
Words and images by Kees de Klein
Photography assistant: Aryan Hamyani
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